Arrowspeed
by Arwen Imladviel
Summary: A collection of onechapter stories about my RP Holt character, the Hawkblood glider Arrowspeed, and her tribe, from the time before she came to Starpool Holt. Warning: Contains violence at animals.
1. WolfKiller

A fanfic situated in Mountain Eyrie, about the Starpool Holt character Arrowspeed. Arrowspeed is 12 in this story and uses her child name, Arrow. 

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Wolf-killer

**

The silver-haired child leaned heavily on her spear. Heavy – that was the word for this night. The clouds in the sky were heavy, hiding the moons and stars from her view. The snow was heavy, slowing her steps. Her catch, two ravvits, was becoming heavier on every step. And she herself was heavy, unable to glide through the air like most of her tribemates, forced to crawl along on foot like some clumsy troll. Forced to make a long detour just because a mountain pass on her usual path had been filled by an avalanche while she was hunting. 

Her parents would soon be worried – she was still outside sending range. Had she lost the path? She didn't remember it to be this long and hard. Worse yet, when she finally got home, the other children would taunt her: where have you been, heavy-bones? Why are you late, clumsy-feet? Hard to hunt when your head's so blunt? Aim as ill as always? Arrow, Arrow, ill-aimed! Arrow, Arrow, ravvit-brained! They would pelt her with snowballs and fly beyond her reach, and they would laugh. Darah the oh-so-noble pureblood, who charmed the adults with her radiant smile, adults and the three other children, the bird-blooded, Kestrel, Bluestone and Dawn. 

Arrow was Kestrel's age, eight-and-four, but she had never played with him and his friends. They could fly, she couldn't. They had been born floaters, their games were different. Her jealousy had started their enmity – she had refused their pity. She had never sought their company, it being too painful a reminder of what she lacked. Instead she spent her time among adults, learning to hunt. She wished to become a great hunter one day, like her father, Bowstring. Deep in her heart, she also sheltered the hope that someday, like her parents, like most of her tribe, she would become a glider. Suanshen the healer said there was still reason hope – after all, her own healing magic had taken a hundred years to bloom. It terrified Arrow to think she might have to wait as long. Meanwhile, she intended to become a hunter worthy of a bond-bird of her own. She had already formed a bond, with a hawk called Goldeneyes, but he was still too young to ride. They hunted together often, but today he had gone to heights she could not follow him on foot. Goldeneyes did not understand why she never glided – the great birds thought all elves were essentially similar. Arrow's father had taught her with both bow and spear, and as little Arrow had inherited Bowstring's sturdy build, he was hoping to teach her swordmanship too when she grew older. The lessons had not been wasted – she was already allowed to hunt alone, as long as she remained within sending range. 

And she would have, tonight, had there been no avalanche. She had sent to her mother, asking permission to take the longer path, and had been granted that permission. That much they trusted her. 

Kestrel, had he been out here tonight, would have been told to glide over the blocked passage even though the weather made it dangerous – but of course Kestrel would never have been allowed to hunt alone in the first place, only with the eight-and-six-year-old Darah or an adult. Bluestone, who was eight-and-two, was still learning the basics of hunting, and little Dawn, at the age of seven, showed no interest in weapons whatever. 

Slowly, Arrow plodded on in the snow. She did not look behind, and so did not notice the drops of blood falling from her catch, from the freshly-killed carcass of a ravvit that still contained some of the warmth of life. The wind howled in her ears, so that she did not hear the other howls mixed in it. Her mind was elsewhere, and that was a terrible mistake to make alone outside sending range. Had she but used her wind-sense, she certainly would have heard there was more to it than what sky made joining earth. 

The wolf pack was hunting. They had found a promising trail. 

Suddenly they were upon her. They circled her, they surrounded her. A glider would have escaped easily. Once again Arrow tried to use her magic, and indeed felt her body lighten, but not enough, it was never enough. She gave up and grabbed a good hold of her spear. They would not get her hard-earned ravvits, they would not send her home empty-handed. Arrow was too angry to be afraid. She jumped, and once in the air, used what little gliding ability she had to control and stretch her fall. She turned her spear and pierced a wolf's skull with her full weight behind the weapon. She tumbled down beside her victim. The rest of the pack had taken some distance, but were now closing in on her again. They would revenge their slain brother, Arrow thought. And she knew she could never kill them all. She clambered up, bruised, and tired from the use of magic she was far from mastering. Now she was afraid indeed. 

Which wolf was the leader of the pack? Perhaps killing that one would be enough. It was worth a try. Arrow stared at each one in turn, looking for the sleekest fur, the largest body, and the sharpest teeth. After many agonising moments fending off the bloodthirsty beasts with her spear she thought she had found the chief wolf, a dark grey male. 'Now we will do battle, you and I. You win, you can eat me. I win, I will wear your pelt.' The wolf was a cunning one. Again and again it dodged her spear. The rest of the pack, strangely enough, did not meddle with the fight. Suddenly the beast bit her hand, making her drop the spear. She did not try to pick it up, reaching for her knife instead. The wolf jumped, huge claws tore Arrow's shoulder and she lost her balance. She knew that if she did not cushion her fall with her hand, she was likely to hit her head on the rocks. But her right hand was torn and bleeding, useless, and her left held the knife. The knife had to remain between her and the wolf, or she would die. So, just as the wolf lunged for her throat, Arrow stabbed it in the chest. It died on top of her, and it was heavy. How could anything be so heavy? 

Arrow realized something strange. She had not hit her head when she fell – because she had not touched the ground at all! She wriggled her hand free and felt under her and discovered her body was hovering just inches above the rocks. Slowly she let go and settled on the uneven ground. She was exhausted. This was the first time she had used her magic out of instinct rather than conscious effort. It could hardly be called gliding – she knew a body was much easier to float when it was already in the air, jumping or falling. She still had a long way to go, but step-by-step, she would walk it, until she learned to glide so well she never needed to walk another step in her life! 

Arrow heaved the carcass of the wolf from on top of her and got up. The rest of the pack had left, and taken her ravvits with them. Maybe the fall of their leader had humbled them, or perhaps they had just decided she was not worth the effort. Her hand was in a bad shape, she couldn't even feel her fingers, let alone move them, but otherwise she had survived with only small cuts and some bruises. She pushed the injured hand into the snow and kept it there to ease the pain. She would have liked to skin the two slain wolves, but that was a job that required two hands. 

Arrow picked up her spear and continued on the path. She was still far from home when she received her father's sending:  
Arrow! Where are you?  
On my way, father! Get Suanshen!  
Are you hurt?  
Not badly. My hand is useless. I need help with my kill!  
Foolish child! I'm coming for you. 

Arrow walked on. It was better than standing in one place and freezing. Before long, she heard the wing-beats of her father's giant hawk, Windsoul.  
'Father! Down here!'  
Bowstring steered his bond-bird down and glided to his daughter.  
'My precious hatchling! My little chick!' The hunter embraced his only living child clumsily.  
Then he took hold of her shoulders and looked her up and down:  
'By the Eggborn! What has happened to you?'  
'Wolves. A whole pack. I killed two.'  
'They attacked you, just like that, for no reason?'  
'Um. I attacked first. I think it was my ravvits they were after.'  
'So why didn't you throw them the ravvits?'  
'I spent all day trying to catch them! They were mine! Stupid wolves, they had no right to take what is mine, just because they were so many and I was alone.'  
'Wolves don't understand right and wrong. Hunger they understand.'  
'And pain.'  
'And pain. Foolish child! Sometimes I wonder if you understand pain at all. Never do anything like this again! You could have died.'  
'Didn't.' 

Windsoul called out to another giant hawk. Soon its rider, Snowflake, floated down with her passenger, the healer Suanshen. The healer spoke a quick greeting and went to her young patient. 'What happened?' Snowflake asked Bowstring.  
'Arrow got in a fight with a wolf pack. Over some ravvits.'  
'Takes after you, she does. Who won?'  
'Snowflake!' Bowstring chided his once-lovemate sternly.  
'Just asking.'  
Arrow, whose hand Suanshen was in the process of healing, answered:  
'Not sure. They got the ravvits, but I killed two of them.'  
'Well done! Since they had the advantage of numbers, I'd say you won.'  
'Snowflake! How dare you encourage her! She could have been killed, for the sake of nothing worth fighting for!'  
'Bowstring, you've raised a good hunter. You should be proud of her!'  
High Ones forgive me, old friend, I am. But she is too young to risk her life.   
I risked mine at her age.  
That you did. Without your parents' approval.  
Aloud, Bowstring said:  
'While our little hunter has herself patched up, would you mind going to her kill and skinning those wolves?'  
'Of course.' As she floated astride her bird, Snowflake continued the sending conversation: Remember when I killed my first wolf? Remember how we celebrated? Remember that coarse fur, and the use we put it to?  
Aye. Poor Arrow, she's too young, and she'll never know what she has missed.  
Too young? I wonder…  
Keep your hands off her!  
You are the only one I want, Bowstring.  
You'll not have me until you stop leading my daughter astray!   
Snowflake chose not to answer. 

Selaree was so relieved at having her daughter safe in her arms that she said nothing for a long while. She just held Arrow as if she intended never to let go. The tribe, the hawkriders of Mountain Eyrie, gathered reverently around the black-haired female. She was the eldest of their elders, over a thousand turns of the seasons old, which was rare among a tribe constantly at war with the mountain trolls. 

Finally Arrow spoke:  
'Mother, let me breathe! I have a story to tell.'   
She stood up and recounted her adventure matter-of-factly, adding nothing, leaving out only how she had used her weak almost-floating. While she spoke of the fight she sent her mother her new experience:  
And I floated, without meaning to, and the wolf felt heavier than anything I've ever carried in my life! 

Most of the purebloods reacted to her story with horror, the bird-bloods with excitement although not always approval. When Arrow was finished, Snowflake stood up. 'And here are her trophies!' She spread out the two wolf skins. Everyone marvelled at the size of the larger one and especially at its teeth. Kestrel was obviously aflame with jealousy, more so when he saw his brother Bluestone touch the head of the slain chief-wolf reverently. Darah muttered all the curses she could think of for foolish blood-thirsty hawk-bloods and their barbarian vanity. Finally the chief called for silence. 

She was Whiteraven, chief of warriors, wearing a magnificent headdress of eagle feathers. She was also Snowflake's mother.  
'Arrow, you have proven yourself as a hunter today. As wolf-killer, you have earned the right to a hunter's name. Do you wish to take an adult's tribe-name?'  
Arrow bowed her head, closed her eyes, and thought. She had always known she would not be Arrow forever – she was not even very good with a bow. It was a child-name that meant only that she was her father's daughter. Yet, in the events of the night there was nothing in which she could find a name, a cause for pride, a foothold in the world of adults. She raised her head and met Whiteraven's eyes. The chief noticed with surprise that Arrow looked at her from almost equal height – she would grow tall, like her mother. Selaree's height and Bowstring's strength – a fearsome combination. Whiteraven felt a secret relief that Arrow was flightless – else she might someday be a serious threat, a challenger. 

'No, my chief. I will take a new name when I learn to glide.'  
'Very well. Still, tonight is a night for celebration. A child left us, a hunter came! Sing and dance! Eat and drink!' Though the words were merry, Arrow noticed something strange in her chief's eyes. Why did her idol not approve of her dream? Did she, too, think it was unlikely ever to come true? Well, there were things even the chief did not know, secrets shared only with her mother. 

'Oh, my little one!' Selaree reached out to her daughter, but Arrow did not come into her arms.  
'I'm not little, mother. Not anymore.'  
'You made a good choice. There is no sense in hurrying headfirst into adulthood. And you will learn to glide, trust me.'  
Was there ever any doubt?  
No, and certainly not after what happened today. The development of instinct is a good sign.  
Now Arrow did hug her mother.

* * *

Note: Among the hawkriders, purebloods have sound-names and bird-bloods have meaning-names. So that's an easy way to figure out who has what in their veins. 

Hawkrider glossary: 

ravvit-brained, ravvit-brains: well, obviously they wouldn't say bird-brains as an insult!  
wind-sense: a bird-blood skill inherited from the hawks – the ability to concentrate on the wind and predict weather, flying conditions, sense scents, hear sound carried in the wind… to understand wind  
hatchling, chick: endearments used of a child. Equivalent of cub, cubling. The word 'child' is more common, though.  
the Eggborn: the three ancestors of all the hawk-bloods in the tribe, who had a shapechanged father and a hawk mother. They hatched out of eggs.  
flightless: any elf who is not a glider. A minority group in the tribe, somewhat unfairly treated. A flightless cannot challenge the chief, for example. Arrowspeed, later, changed this rule…  
Challenges: also called Duels. Fought with troll-swords in the air. A Duel for chieftainship is always to the death – and in other duels the death rate is high, too. Just imagine a swordfight in mid-air. A "Low Duel" is one with rules that state a low maximum distance from the ground, and it is fought until surrender.   
"A child left us, a hunter came.": The formal words with which the chief grants a teenager the status of hunter after his/her first big kill. The average age for this is fifteen. The rules regarding what counts as big kill are very complex.  



	2. Against the High Wind

A fanfic situated in Mountain Eyrie, about the Starpool Holt character Arrowspeed. Arrowspeed is 16 in this story and still uses her child name, Arrow. ****

Against the High Wind

Chief Whiteraven returned from her hunt to find young Arrow waiting for her on the ledge of Mountain Eyrie. She asked her bond-bird to drop her kill, a bowhorn, on the ledge and glided down to meet the flightless hunter. As she set her feet on the ground, she noticed the girl was a head taller than her. She was also sturdily built for a sixteen-turns-old. Still, she was flightless. Not a threat, Whiteraven reminded herself. 

"My chief. I regret that I must do this, but do this I must. I challenge the High Wind." Arrow stated gravely. Her voice sounded more like a male's than a young maiden's. Whiteraven stared at her in disbelief. Challenging the High Wind meant attempting to change the traditions the Hawkriders had always followed. In such a challenge, the chief represented the High Wind and a Low Duel was fought. Whiteraven could guess what particular tradition Arrow wished to change, yet she asked:  
"And the reason for your challenge?"  
"The flightless are not allowed to challenge the chief for the feather-crown. I wish to change this."  
Whiteraven tried to keep her voice calm as she answered:  
"Very well. I will summon the tribe to the Duelling Grounds." 

Soon the Hawkriders all stood on the ledge that overlooked the smooth-walled canyon shaped ages ago for duels with troll-swords, or floated above it. Whiteraven explained the challenge and gave her formal headdress to Selaree's hands. If it came to pass that she died, the Eldest would crown her son Winter their next chief. Low Duels were fought until surrender, but accidents had happened in the past. Selaree declared the height of a level vein of darker stone in the walls the maximum gliding height during the duel. Bowstring gave Arrow his own sword for loan and carried his daughter to the canyon floor. 

The combatants faced each other standing on the bottom of the canyon. Selaree called out: "Begin!" and blade met blade in an echoing clash. Whiteraven glided around her flightless opponent, but young Arrow parried her every thrust. Her attacks failed, however, for the chief kept her body out of her reach. After a long, even battle Whiteraven got through Arrow's defences and dealt the girl a blow on the ribs. Her black leather tunic tore and blood spattered the ground. Arrow's left hand clutched the wound and pain twisted her features. Whiteraven lifted her sword to touch the girl's neck and demand surrender, but at the last possible moment Arrow jumped from her crouching position as if she was not in pain at all and slammed the chief down with the full weight of her body. The sword fell from Whiteraven's grasp and she felt cold brightmetal against her own neck. 

"I yield!" She screamed. As Arrow released her and stood up, the chief muttered:  
"But the next time won't be so easy, you flightless little beast!" In a voice as sweet as beesweets, Whiteraven continued as she glided off the ground:  
"I suppose I should carry you up now, and declare your victory?"  
"No need, my chief. Kieeeee-eeeeeee-eeeeeee!" Arrow suddenly cried, and did something impossible. 

She glided. Not gracefully, not fast, but she rose to the level of the ledge. Whiteraven followed, puzzled.  
"Why did you challenge me if you are a glider? Since when have you been one, and why did you hide it?"  
"I did not challenge you, my chief. I challenged the High Wind. There will be no next time between us, at least I hope not. I did this for Shadowsong, Summernight, Moonflower and Yanel, and for the flightless to come. As for the other questions – I mastered my talent only days ago, but my mother has been secretly training me all my life. And I did not use the talent in the Duel to show that I'm right in my cause – a flightless can fight the chief and win. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to have this wound healed." 

Arrow glided to Suanshen the healer and landed clumsily on her knees. The healer supported her and put her hand on the gash. She gasped:  
"Two ribs broken! Valaree, give me a hand." Suanshen could mend bones at least as well as the bone-shaper, but they preferred to share such tasks to conserve Suanshen's strength – one never knew when she would next be needed.  
Whiteraven came to stand by and watch:  
"I thought you were bluffing!"  
Arrow managed a smile:  
"I was, sort of. It was my only chance against strength such as yours, my chief. And as you said, a trick like that only works once. Once was all I needed."  
"I should have known you never wanted to be chief." Whiteraven said more to herself. Apparently she had not managed to conceal the relief in her voice, for as she walked away, Summernight came to her:  
"Remember, if I'm not satisfied with how you lead us I might just decide to challenge you myself. And I'm no fledgling - I know more tricks than you."  
Whiteraven chuckled:  
"That would be the day! Oh, my friend, that would be the day!"  
Soon they were both roaring with laughter. They were soul sisters, close as close can be. 

Bowstring walked to his daughter as soon as Arrow was healed and back on her feet.  
"Tell me how it felt, the pain, and how you overcame it?"  
"I was so angry I didn't feel it. I knew I should be in pain, but when I touched the wound it felt as if it wasn't even my flesh. So I decided to bluff – I pretended I hurt and got Whiteraven off guard. Nice trick, wasn't it?"  
"It was more than a trick. I should have guessed before. You are a berserker, just like me. You have the gift to ignore pain during a battle, even to the degree of ignoring a mortal wound. It is a dangerous path, but it is what you are." 

Whiteraven's daughter, Snowflake, sent to her furmate:  
I told you so! Just look at her. She's taller than her father already.  
All right, so you win. Two full jars, was it? I still can't believe you made a bet against your own mother!' Featherveil chided her.  
You should know me by now. Hey, I have an idea.  
What now?  
Watch. 

Arrow had walked to the ledge and stood watching the empty Duelling grounds, and the red stain that was her blood visible even from this far. Her expression was very serious, as if she had just now realized she had been wounded. Snowflake glided to stand in the air before her.  
"Lose something of yours down there?" She asked, grinning.  
"Maybe. Fear, or something. And now I'm thinking maybe fear isn't always such a bad thing to have."  
"Cheer up. The day is yours, young one. Not to mention the night after it…"  
Snowflake floated closer, and whispered:  
"You've just proved you're not a child anymore, Arrow. Perhaps you'd like to show me just how grown up you are?"  
The girl just stared at her.  
"Larenn's blood, what is wrong with you? Or is it me? Not good enough for the mighty warrior, am I?"  
"No, Snowflake. You're too good. But I don't have any love in me today, maybe never. All I can think of is who to challenge next and how to pay Kestrel back for every time he's called me a flightless maggot, and worse."  
"Well, the offer stands. Do you have any idea how hot you are, girl?"  
Snowflake set her hands on Arrow's shoulders and bent down to kiss her, but Arrow caught hold of her arms and held her away.  
"I don't know and I don't care. Now please let me be. I do know how strong I am, and so do you."  
"All right. I owe you, anyway, since you won me two jars of Featherveil's best and oldest wine." 

Well? Featherveil asked, a smile in her eyes, when Snowflake returned to her.  
No luck. That one is cold as cloudjuice!  
Give her time. She's young.  
Storms and skyfire! You should have seen her eyes. Children don't have a bloodlust like that. Nobody should have a bloodlust like that. She was bracing herself, I tell you, forcing herself not to hurt me. Much. Snowflake rubbed the ugly bruises on her arms.  
Oh, poor you.  
Don't you start babying me.  
Sorry.  
Where's that wine?

* * *

Note: I'm not very satisfied with this story. Reviews are welcome. 

-Arwen Imladviel aka Leanan 


	3. Initiation

A fanfic situated in Mountain Eyrie, about the Starpool Holt character Arrowspeed. Arrowspeed is about 22 in this story.

**

Initiation

**

Recognition! Sweet Recognition! It was two-eights and one years since the birth of Dawn, who was the youngest of the hawkriders. After her, there had been no children. Now, there would be little ones once more; Moonflower and Serek were Recognised. The great fire in the Central Cave was lit, and the tribe celebrated with wine and meat, song and dance. As the night darkened, the songs grew rowdier and the dancers bolder. 

A solitary elf sat on the ledge of Mountain Eyrie with her back turned to the fire. Suddenly someone touched her leather-clad shoulder.  
'Arrowspeed! You're missing all the fun!'  
'I'm in no mood for dancing, Featherveil.'  
'Really? Aren't you happy for them?'  
'Happy? I'm relieved it wasn't me, that's all I am.'  
'Sometimes I just can't figure you out. So it's not jealousy. What bugs you?'  
'I don't like children. Life's more peaceful without them.'  
'How can you say so? Children are the hope of the future!'  
'Indeed? But anyone can die. And the pureblood can live forever. Surely an elder like my mother, with all her memories, is more precious to the tribe than some squealing, helpless, ignorant newborn?'  
'Your mother would disagree. She loves her children more than her own life. So will you, if you Recognise someday.'  
'The High Ones spare me from that!'  
'I thought there is nothing, absolutely nothing, that you are afraid of.'  
'I do fear Recognition and I am not ashamed to admit it.'  
'Use that clever brain of yours! Anyone can die, you say. If no new ones were born, soon there would be no elves at all!'   
'I know, I know. But if the world was perfect, there would be no death. And no need for children.'  
'Do you fear death, Arrowspeed?'  
'No. I know I could have Suanshen burn the hawk-blood from me, but I don't want her to. I am a hunter, a warrior, and it is easier to risk my life when I know I am not risking all eternity, just a few hundred years.'  
Featherveil was silent. She was neither hunter nor warrior, being too gentle-hearted to kill living beings. Her hawk blood yearned to hunt, but in her the heritage of the High Ones was stronger and stilled the savage dreams. She was a gatherer and her bond-bird was a tiny hawk she had found fallen from its nest, not a proper hawkrider bird at all. She admired all the strong warriors of her tribe, but recently her eyes had turned more and more to Arrowspeed. 

Suddenly Kestrel and Darah stood beside them, arms wrapped around each other in drunken love. 'Featherveil! Come dance with us!'  
How inconsiderate of them, Featherveil thought, to address only her as if Arrowspeed wasn't there at all.  
'Go Recognise a troll, Kestrel!' She answered.  
'Oo, the gentle one can bite! Could it be - are you in love, Featherveil? Got a crush on ice-heart here?'  
Hearing Darah's taunt, Featherveil blushed. Darah giggled.  
'You're wasting your time, dearie. Her heart of stone hungers for blood and battle.'  
Featherveil sought words to answer, but was interrupted by Arrowspeed's sending:  
Are they bothering you? Say the word, and I'll deal with this.  
Please, do.  
Arrowspeed stood up and floated over the ledge.  
'So you want to dance, Kestrel? Come here and dance with me - hand to hand and foot to foot, or mind to mind or sword to sword.'  
'Must you turn everything into a fight?' Darah's voice was full of pureblood contempt.  
'Not everything. Just the important things. Featherveil doesn't want your company, so let her be. If you ever bother her again, you'll have me to deal with.'  
Kestrel turned away, unable to meet Arrowspeed's eyes. He had lost to her so many times already, in fights and contests both, from sword-duels to gliding races. It was so unfair! They were of age, yet Arrowspeed had been treated as an adult ever since she killed those wolves at the age of eight-and-four. She had been raised as a hunter - and then, four years later, she had suddenly learned to glide, and, this was the unfair part, glide better, faster, and with heavier burdens than anyone born with the gift. Not to mention that she had formed a bird-bond when she was seven and Goldeneyes still inside his egg!  
Kestrel lead Darah away, towards the fire and dances. 

Arrowspeed smiled uncertainly at Featherveil and alighted on the ledge.  
'I don't understand. You seem so happy tonight, yet you don't want to join the celebration.'  
'Oh, Arrowspeed!' Featherveil hugged her.  
You always gaze into the distance and yearn for new horizons, you who took the High Wind higher! Can't you see, my sharp-eyed friend, what is right here for you to take!  
Featherveil… Arrowspeed tightened her embrace and felt the other respond. She glided, supporting Featherveil in her arms, away from the firelight, into the privacy the dark night offered them. It took Featherveil a moment to realize the change in the wind and its reason - her love had literally swept her off her feet! She added her own gliding strength to Arrowspeed's. My strong one, I love you!  
So this is what it feels like - love. Sweeter than spring water, stronger than old wine, wilder than any wind, warmer than any flame! I love you, Featherveil, my graceful one, air-dancer! 

Their lips met, their tongues embraced each other. Hands explored under clothes, bodies shuddered in anticipation.  
We should go to my nest, or yours.  
Nest? No, I want you here, out in the wind that is my soul.  
You crazy hawk. You wonderful, crazy hawk.  
This is my initiation, let me choose the place.  
As if I could deny you anything. I've been yours to take long before you were old enough to know of love. 

Hundreds of feet below, items of clothing began to rain on the rocks. 


	4. The BattleHunt

A fanfic situated in Mountain Eyrie, about the Starpool Holt character Arrowspeed. Arrowspeed is 63 in this story. Told in first person, to her friends at Starpool. 

**

The Battle-Hunt

**

You have asked me for stories of my tribe, and I've been trying to decide whether I should begin with a battle-story or a hunt-story. Both have their merits, and so I chose a story that is both. We Hawkriders usually hunt alone, each with her or his own bond-bird, for such is the way of our hawks. Bowhorn we hunt, and deer, even cave-bears the hunter braves alone. Only one beast is too fearsome to be thus faced. There is one hunt we do together, a dangerous but necessary one. That is the hunt of the swordfeet, and we call it a battle-hunt. For the swordfeet are as large as our birds, and much heavier. They are giant lizards whose strength is in the talons that give them their name. We respect them and call them enemy, not game. When they stray into our lands we let them be, but if one tries to make a nest we must drive it away lest they come to stay. It is a grievous duty to us if we have to break swordfeet eggs – in size if not in shape they resemble the eggs of our beloved birds, and all our battle hunts prove they are a cunning, terrible enemy, perhaps almost as wise as our hawks were before we blended blood with them. 

So, this is the story of my second battle-hunt. All the hunter-warriors of my tribe were there, except young Whirl who was recovering from an injury: my father Bowstring, our chief Whiteraven, her lifemate Falcon and their children Winter and Snowflake, and also Blade, Fountain, Birdbone, Kestrel, Bluestone, and the pureblood Aval and flightless Summernight. The bone-shaper Valaree was with us, and our healer Suanshen came as well, and I was worried for her more than usually because we had just become lovemates. Do not mind, by the way, that I mention everyone by name even though you do not know them. Such is the way of my tribe: when we tell stories, no name must be forgotten. My mother Selaree, who is our storyteller and Eldest, knows all the names of all that have ever lived at Mountain Eyrie. Many we were that day, the hunters of my tribe, and too many of those I name now are with us in spirit only. Our birds refuse to come near swordfeet so we had not their support. Our enemies were six adult lizards, one of whom had already made a nest, and two half-grown ones. 

We glided over the sleeping-place of our enemy soon after dawn. Falcon carried his mother for Summernight was one of those not gifted with flight. We saw the nest-making female was resting with her male, another with the two young ones, and the last three each by itself. Whiteraven divided us into groups:  
I'll take the matriarch and her mate. With me, Falcon, Summernight and Valaree. Winter, you'll lead Blade, Fountain and Aval against the one with young. Suanshen, go with Winter. Arrowspeed, you and Kestrel can handle the big male I think. Snowflake and Bluestone take the smaller male, and Bowstring and Birdbone deal with the scar-marked female. She looks to me the strongest, but the matriarch will be fiercest for she has a nest to defend.  
She paired us well, strong with swift and young with old, except for Kestrel and me. We were of age and thought ourselves strong, but years we had only sixty-and-three. I had proven myself as warrior and hunter, and had already been away from my tribe once looking for other tribes of elves. Kestrel was one of my strongest rivals in all contests of skill and strength. By pairing us Whiteraven knew we would strife to do our very best. By naming me first she gave me responsibility over him. 

We called our battle cry to wake our enemies. They moved sluggishly in the morning sun, but soon the warmth would reach their bones and their sharp claws would be swift indeed. 

I had chosen sword against sword-claws, my first troll-forged blade, which I called Bane. Kestrel had several javelins with horn-points shaped sharp by Valaree. I challenged the swordfoot gliding now near his face, now just outside the reach of his forefeet. Kestrel hovered farther, took aim and the High Ones were with him – his first try hit the beast in the side, and when he turned to bite the spear off, he got a second one right in the eye and fell. Kestrel called out a shrill cry of triumph – ki-eee-eee! – like so. We looked around to see how the others were doing. Whiteraven's group had the matriarch down and were battling her mate. Winter seemed to be doing well with his warriors, but I couldn't see Suanshen with them. Frantic, I turned and saw her healing Birdbone while my father was trying to keep their opponent at bay with arrows. As I watched, the scar-covered female evaded yet another and took a bold dash at Bowstring. I hurried to his aid. 

Together, my father and I battled a formidable enemy. Her claws were razor-sharp, her mouth was full of hungry teeth, and her skin bore witness of countless battles with her own kin. My father wounded her several times before barely evading a slash intended to kill. The talon's side hit his head and struck him down unconscious. I drew the monster to me with taunting blows and cut off one of her forefeet with my sword – a hollow triumph, for it is on their hind legs that the swordfeet have their biggest talons. Yet it was the bone-shaper Valaree who felled the beast, boldly diving from above to take hold of the horn-like two bone crests on its skull and shape the bone to pierce the enemy's brain. Pureblood as she was, no hawk-cry erupted from her lips on the moment of victory. 

Only then did I recall Kestrel. Why hadn't he come to our aid?  
Kestrel? I sent, fearing something had happened to him.  
Here! He sent, showing me a place on the other side of a copse of trees where Bluestone and Snowflake had chased their wounded opponent.  
I need you, Arrowspeed! Get Suanshen if you can – Snowflake is down and I'm wounded!  
He did not need to add what we both knew – Bluestone was good with his spear, but not good enough to stand against a swordfoot alone. Snowflake being 'down' meant she was either unconscious or in too much pain to glide. That made the situation even more dangerous. 

Suanshen was still in the healing trance – the talon of the swordfoot had torn Birdbone's leg from knee down almost into shreds, or so it seemed to me. 

"Bone-Shaper, guard these three. Snowflake's down." 

I trusted her with a lot, considering there is not friendship between the two of us even to call each other by name. My father, my lovemate, and my lovemate's son very much my elder but still dear to her. Yet the bone-shaper complained:   
"Why me?" 

I didn't turn to answer. I had been given the duty to watch over Kestrel, and watch over him I would. While I rose above the glade I saw everyone was indeed either engaged in battle or wounded and being carried away to safety by the gliders chosen to attend us for this purpose only: Serek, Aldah, Elkar and Storm. The last I saw was how Summernight had somehow got a foothold on the back of a swordfoot and was shouting to others to mind their own business and let her mind hers. I smiled, proud of my father's blood. Summernight is his grandson's daughter – yes, she's also Snowflake's grandmother, and Snowflake used to be my father's lovemate before I was born… I know this sounds strange and maybe even wrong to you, but my tribe has been small too long, we are all related. We are also all Recognition-born and proud of it. 

Back to my story. I hastened to find Kestrel fending off a swordfoot alone. The way he dangled his legs when gliding showed he had broken bones there. I cursed his thoughtlessness: he should have asked for Valaree, not Suanshen. Then I saw Snowflake and understood. The chief's daughter had several wounds on her that showed she had fallen fighting. I feared she was dead, for something seemed to be horribly wrong with the gaping wound on her brow. Surely there was not flesh enough for such a deep gash on top of a skull? The swordfeet are not stupid. They have learned that the best way to down a glider is to strike for the head. It takes consciousness to float a body, just as it takes consciousness to stand or walk. There. See how I've come to trust you? I would never have revealed my greatest weakness to a human listener. 

I turned my thoughts from the one I could not help.   
Where's Bluestone? I asked Kestrel as I glided over the swordfoot. One of Snowflake's arrows was in his eye, but it had only enraged him more. Still, the creature now had a blind side, which eased my work a lot.   
Down, too. He threw him towards the trees just before you came. 

Our final battle was short and bloody. Kestrel lured the beast with false attacks, using a spear that had been in his brother's hands when the hunt began. I pretended to turn away, and then ambushed our enemy from its blind side. My long blade did what the arrow had failed in, piercing through to the brain. I was spattered all over in blood and brain tissue when I glided to Kestrel. His strength was almost spent, but I could easily carry his weight without it slowing me as we hastened to find Bluestone. He answered our sending, but faintly. 

Suanshen! Valaree! Come here at once! We both sent when we saw what was left of him. The enemy had clawed off a chunk of his side and he was dying of loss of blood. But when I made to bandage his wounds, he protested:  
Don't move me. My back is broken.  
Valaree! Bluestone dies unless you come here!  
And Suanshen dies if I leave her now!  
I would later learn the situation was bad: the matriarch was not dead after all and it had surprised Whiteraven's group just when they thought victory was theirs. Suanshen was in a trance healing a wound that would otherwise have killed Falcon. They were both right next to the swordfoot's nest. 

I could not ask her to leave Suanshen. Not just that she was my lovemate – she was the healer, and if she used her skills in the midst of battle it would only be to mend a lethal wound enough that it was not lethal anymore. To abandon her would mean the loss of two lives right then, but also all she would heal later. No, the choice I regret was that I had ordered Valaree to stay. I should have sent her to Kestrel and remained with Suanshen. If I had been there, I could have carried both healer and patient to safety. Few others among us were strong enough for that, and the delicate bone-shaper was not one of them. But no, I had wanted a kill to call my own. 

Now I had it. And the price was horrible. Quiet, thoughtful Bluestone was dying and I could do nothing to help him. I thought I could not feel deeper sorrow, but then he sent to me, too weak to speak:  
Arrowspeed. Did you kill him? Did you revenge my blood?  
Yes. By my hand you are revenged, tribemate.  
Tribemate… is that all you can name me, even in farewell?  
We had been furmates, many years ago. I had forgotten how he could look at me with those blue eyes, so intensely, so full of a love I could not answer. I had given him all I could, but we both had known it was not enough and parted as friends. It seemed he had still cherished those feelings in secret. And now he would die in my arms.  
I named him with all the pet-names I had once called him, from the beautiful right down to the silly ones. I buried my hand in his blue-black hair, I kissed his bloody lips, and I sang to him in sending a song we had made together.  
He sighed and relaxed his face – it seemed as if his pain had left him.  
Then he sent to me one last time.  
I love you, and though I must die, my love will live.  
He gave me his soulname. Just like that. And then he died. 

I know not how long had passed, but when I lifted my head to cry his death to the hawks, many voices joined mine. Afterwards I looked around and saw Kestrel staring at me with Fountain, his mother and Bluestone's. With her had come Winter and Aval. Soon Whiteraven and Valaree joined us. Birdbone, Bowstring and Falcon had been healed just enough not to be in danger and carried away, along with the less grievously injured Blade and Summernight. They would all be bandaged and tended to with herbs and potions until Suanshen regained her strength. The healings had exhausted her and she now slept in Whiteraven's arms. Valaree went to have a look at Snowflake and quietly mended her pierced skull and bandaged the wound. She would live, despite the blood staining her white curls crimson. 

As Valaree mended the bones in Kestrel's feet, he asked me:  
"Why did my brother close his mind from mother and I?" Fountain was cradling Bluestone's broken body in her arms and weeping.  
"He didn't close you out – he took me in. All the way to his soul. I'm sorry, Kestrel. I have wronged him and now I will never have the change to right it."  
"Wronged him?" There was a challenge in his voice.  
"He loved me, all these years, and I never saw it. Poor, shy Bluestone."  
Kestrel grabbed my tunic in his arms. He tried to lift me but failed, floating himself to meet my eyes level. There was anger in his gaze.  
"Arrowspeed, you heartless bloodthirsty good-for-nothing mater with trolls! You ravvit-brained barbarian! I should cut you to pieces and feed them to Bluestone's hawk!"  
"Do it. If you think that would please his spirit, do it. I won't raise a hand against you."  
"You know I can't. For his sake I can't. Curse you!"  
He let go and turned away. I reached to touch his shoulder.  
"If there is anything I can do…" 

He struck me in the face, hard.  
"Be silent!" 

It galled me, but I obeyed. If only I had sent Valaree, Bluestone might still live. But I knew better than to admit that to Kestrel right then. 

This is the story of my second battle-hunt. The kills that day went to Winter, Kestrel, Valaree, Blade, Fountain, myself, Summernight and Whiteraven. Five at least would have died if we'd had no healer or bone-shaper, as it was, we mourned one brave hunter, Bluestone. We gave his body to his bond-bird. His spirit joined the spirits of our ancestors in the jewel-walled Cave of Dreams. And of all that visited him there, only I knew the name to call him. Only I. 


	5. Bloodwine

A fanfic situated in Mountain Eyrie, about the Starpool Holt character Arrowspeed. Arrowspeed is 80 in the beginning this story, Quill is 13. 

**

Bloodwine

**

Arrowspeed had just returned from her second quest. After a passionate welcome kiss from Featherveil, she turned to look at the other members of the tribe. She met Eaglet, who had earned the hunter-name Eagle-Eye for his sharp sight. She was introduced to Blackbird, the little son of Blade and Darah.  
"And he's flightless?" She asked.  
"Yes." Darah answered, blushing. She had been the leader of those who had teased the child Arrow for her flightlessness.  
"You better love him, Darah. Don't twist him like you twisted me."  
"I won't. Arrowspeed, I'm so sorry. I never realized…"  
"Of course not. You're so stupid."  
Blade rushed to defend his lifemate.  
"You take that back!"  
"No, Blade. She's right. I was stupid, back before you were born." 

"Arrowspeed!" The voice belonged to a girl, one with short greymetal-colour silky hair tied back with a red bandana and cut exactly like Arrowspeed's. She was wearing red and black, trousers and tunic much like the clothes Arrowspeed herself had worn when she left on her quest.  
"Quill? Is that you?" She stared in amazement at Featherveil's daughter. The last time she had seen her, Quill had been a cub with long flowing feather-decorated hair and a pretty blue dress. "Of course it is I." Quill hugged Arrowspeed with surprising strength and passion. She was short, but she glided high enough to gaze at her with sky-blue eyes.  
"You've grown. And you've the looks of a hunter. Is your name still Quill?"  
"It is. I am a hunter, but Quill is my hunter-name now. It's such a good name for an archer."  
"And are you a good archer?"  
"Father says I am. But I've waited and waited for you to come back and teach me."  
"Me? Aval's a better archer than me. The sword is my weapon, but you're too skinny to learn it yet."  
"Oh, Arrowspeed! Please."  
"Let go of me. I'm not teaching anything to a crazy child."  
"I'm a hunter."  
"Behave like one, then." 

Later, Featherveil and Arrowspeed had a Talk.  
"She loves you, you know."  
"And whose fault is that? I remember your habit of telling hero-stories about me, stories such as one should only tell of the dead."  
"She wants to be like you. She even cut her hair."  
"Doesn't suit her."  
"You're a cruel one, my hawk."  
"I am that. Half the ladies hate me for it, the other half love me for it. Your daughter takes after you in that. But she's still a child."  
"Not for long. And she is already full of fiery dreams. Each one about you."  
"And you don't mind?"  
Featherveil laughed.  
No, Rhak. I'm not the jealous sort, not as mother, not as lovemate.  
Veyn. I've missed you so. Lifemate.  
Lifemate?  
Yes. If you allow.  
You know I do. Aval has been my lovemate while you were gone, but our Recognition has faded. We will have no more children. I've told him he will have to step aside once you return. He doesn't mind – much.  
Good. Come, let us seal the bond. I am hungry for you and you only. 

The following day, Arrowspeed sought out her longtime friend, Snowflake.  
"I have a problem."  
"Oh? What is it?"  
"Not what but who. Quill."  
Snowflake giggled.  
"I see no problem. I see a goblet of bloodwine ready to be drained."  
"The wine is raw, it has not matured enough. She is only thirteen."  
"But the blood is very, very warm. Well, you just tell her to wait. Promise her a night to remember, as soon as she's old enough."  
"But I don't want her."  
"Why not? Because she's Featherveil's daughter? You've made it pretty clear you're not her mother, any more than you're Eagle-Eye's."  
"No. Because it would be like joining with myself. You know why it never worked out between you and me – we're too similar."  
"I disagree. I think we might have been wonderful lovemates, but for Featherveil."  
Arrowspeed sat silent. She'd fooled about with Snowflake now and then, and it had been fun. Snowflake was into strong warriors, but Arrowspeed had only ever truly loved those who were not warriors at all. Featherveil. Suanshen. 

"Say – what do you think of little Quill?" She asked Snowflake.  
"Perfect. Maybe you're right and she's too young, but she's already a beauty. And strong. Just look at those arms."  
"You always were after kids. I remember my father warning me about you!"  
Snowflake laughed, a melodic sound like a babbling brook.  
"You did a good job Initiating Featherveil. Maybe you could do Quill too." Arrowspeed suggested.  
"I wish. But it's you she wants."  
"We don't always get what we want. Court her! Tell her you want her because you can't have me, tell her she's the next best thing. That's true, isn't it?"  
"Sort of. But you really have not the faintest idea how to court a girl, Arrowspeed. Maybe because you never needed to. We all just swoon at one look from you."  
Arrowspeed laughed, shrill as a keening hawk.  
"I must be cursed. Or blessed. Or both." 

Some years later, Snowflake, by then called Hawkheart, initiated Quill and they became lovemates. 

Much later, when Quill was Recognized lifemates with Whirl and a mother of three, she shared with Arrowspeed just to find out what it would be like. It was sweet and strong as aged wine mixed with life-warm bearblood. Quill said it was worth the waiting. Arrowspeed said it was something special. 

But she said that of everyone. 


	6. The Legend of the Eggborn

A fanfic about the origins of the Hawkrider Tribe, told by arrowspeed, a Hawkrider and a character at Starpool Holt. 

**

The Legend of the Eggborn

**

This story began a long time ago, when Larenn was chief. Seventeen chiefs have ruled and died since his time. My mother, Selaree the Eldest, who has lived long indeed and served six of them, and now serves Hawkheart, would know this story as it ought to be told, with the names of everyone who came with Larenn to Mountain Eyrie, and she would tell you the very number of turns of the seasons since the Hawkriders began. I am no storyteller, but I'll tell you what I can. 

The tribe numbered eight and three eights and two when they lived in their old home. It was a valley in the middle of mighty mountains. Then the tall people found them. They wanted the valley for themselves, so they attacked my people. Chief Adel led the warriors against the tall people. Eight and seven elves died, and at least three times as many tall people. The tall people were barbarians wielding stone weapons, mighty brutes clad in skins and with painted faces and chests. The description fits no humans I have ever seen, but this happened eighteen chiefs ago. That is a long time, and humans may have changed since then. 

While Adel and the warriors fought the tall people, her son Larenn obeyed her order and led the rest of the tribe away. Later the surviving warriors joined them. Adel was gravely wounded and the healer could not help her. She died in her son's arms. Larenn became chief and led the tribe to exile. They travelled on foot across a barren plain. Larenn, who was a shapechanger, often took the shape of a giant hawk to hunt for his people and to scout ahead. The tribe, who had called themselves the Shadow Children, after their home the Shadow Valley, now started to call themselves the Hawk Tribe. But they were all pureblood back then. They wandered on the plain for eight and three years. During that time three more died, but seven were born. 

So the tribe numbered eight and one eights and six when they crossed a wide expanse of water over ice in the season of white cold and came to a new land, where snow-covered mountain peaks rose sharp into the sky. A land where no tall people had ever set foot. A land ruled by mighty birds, the ancestors of our hawks. The Hawk Tribe considered them a good omen. Larenn considered them friends. Somehow he made a truce with them so they would not touch his people. The rockshapers built a cave home for the tribe where Mountain Eyrie now stands. In those days the home was different, for there were only four gliders among them, the rest were flightless. 

The long journey had changed the once peaceful Hawk People. They had learned to appreciate hunters above farmers. The magic-users had had to learn new cruel uses for their skills to defend the weaker ones. Rock and plant, water and weather, bone and flesh – everything can become a weapon in the hands of a shaper. 

Larenn began to spend more and more time among the hawks. He learned from them and shared his learning with his tribe. Then, one spring, he was not seen in elf form at all. When he returned he announced a new era would begin. He had mated with a hawk, and she had laid four eggs. He was not sure what kind of life was growing inside those eggs, if any, but he was very hopeful. Larenn spent most of his time in hawk form, feeding his mate. The eggs hatched much later than normal hawk eggs. Only three of them hatched. The life inside the fourth had ended before it even began. Larenn carried the egg to the healer and he confirmed his suspicion that what was inside it was not alive anymore. One of the rockshapers had made a beautiful crystal chamber, and now the egg that never hatched was set on a pedestal there and completely covered with thick amethyst crystals by the rockshaper, so that it would never break. The unborn, unnamed child was the first spirit to dwell in what would became the Cave of Dreams, home to all hawkblood spirits in death. Soon afterwards, Larenn introduced his three children to the tribe. One was a girl with golden-brown wings instead of hands, and shining white hair. She was born a floater and later learned to truly fly. Her name was Akaiya. Another was a boy whose body was covered in soft brown feathers all over, and whose beaked face resembled hawk more than elf. He never learned to speak but was a very powerful sender. He, too, was a glider. His name was Ralayan. But the eldest child, the one who was to be chief after Larenn, was a puzzle. She seemed to be all hawk. Yet Larenn said her soul had an elf's name – Laralee. Akaiya and Ralayan were raised by the tribe, but Laralee spent her first six years with her mother. 

Then one day a naked elf-child with feathers on her head instead of hair came to the tribe. Father! she sent until Larenn woke and came to her.  
What is it, Laralee? Only then did the others realize who she was.  
Mother dead. Swordfeet. Her sending was more images than words, really. The first one ever to hawk-send was only half hawk.  
Larenn led the warriors and magic-users of the tribe to fight the giant lizards and banished them. That was the first but far from the last Battle-Hunt. 

Laralee came to dwell among the tribe and learn to speak and to elf-send. Her learning was slow, but eventually she gained control of words and her shapechanging magic, though she never learned any other shapes than feather-haired elf and a pale grey hawk. 

The Swordfeet came again when the Eggborn were three eights and six turns old. Akaiya took part in the battle and died. She had already Recognized three times and given birth to four children, all of them gliders. Akaiya's twin firstborns were the first to bond with hawks and ride them - the first Hawkriders. She is remembered now as Short Life Brightly Burning. 

Eight and four turns later Larenn relinquished chieftainship to Laralee. He flew away and was never again seen. When Laralee's grandson Silverquill was chief, a bone-shaper found Larenn's bones on the plain. Laralee Recognized four times, the last three with the same male. Her first son was stillborn, the second, flightless, died very young killed by a bear. A glider daughter lived to Recognize but died giving birth. So Laralee's heir as chief was the fourth child, a son called Windsong. A glider. Half the children born to the purebloods in those days were gliders. 

It was during the time of Laralee's chieftainship that the trolls came to the mountains and abducted the only rockshaper. Laralee started a war to get him back, but the trolls killed him, and many others. Among the fallen was Ralayan. Laralee and her brother had been very close, and after the battle she declared:  
"I have too many to mourn now. The lives of my parents and my children and my sister have been a burden, and when Ralayan is added to it, it becomes too heavy. Windsong, I cannot be chief anymore. You are chief now. You remember my teachings, the wisdom you have named the High Wind. Listen to the song of your blood. Follow it and change it as needed. Your descendants will hold the chieftainship – but only if they are strong enough to hold it. Take my sword, but remember – anyone who can wield a sword can challenge you." And Laralee gave him one of the blades won from the trolls. The sword was named Talonsharp. The chief of my people no longer wields that ancient blade, for better ones have been won since that day, but the chieftain's sword always has been named Talonsharp. Windsong made himself a crown of eagle feathers that resembled Laralee's head. 

Laralee took her hawk-shape. She joined her mother's kin and mated with them to mingle elf blood with theirs. It is thought that the echo of her shapechanging magic was what made it possible for the hawks to grow bigger generation by generation, until they reached their current size. Then one day Laralee was not seen anymore, and when the children of the Eggborn began to die of old age, for their blood was mortal, it was supposed that Laralee must be dead too, although her bones were never found. 

But much later - when my mother was young, when five chiefs of Windsong's line had ruled and died, the last in a Duel losing the chieftainship to Claw and his line, and when Greyhawk, fifth and last of that line, had just lost the feather-crown to Brook, who would be remembered in lore as Redbrook; not for her hair, for that was silver as a mountain stream, but for a stream far underground that flowed red with the blood of her enemies – Laralee returned. 

She spoke of an ancient magic that had captured her for all those ages. For a short time she became my mother's mentor. She refused to challenge Brook for chieftainship, saying that what was once given away should not be claimed again by force. And once more Laralee Recognized. Her mate was a pureblood, Davek the Eldest, and their daughter was called Clearsky. Laralee died in the battle where Brook won her new name. By then she had begun to show signs of her great age, and her mortality. In time, Clearsky Recognized Jadyn and gave birth to Bowstring. My father. And he Recognized my mother when Whiteraven was chief. And so I was born, and that is why I have more hawkblood in my veins than anyone. And why I most likely will never live to be as old as my mother is. Whiteraven, too, was killed by trolls and her daughter Hawkheart is chief now, and my mother is second chief for Hawkheart has no children. The Bone-Shaper was third but she used to brag so much about it, I got bored listening and challenged her. So technically I'm third chief but that doesn't mean much, especially now that I'm away. 


End file.
